Page 86 of Must Love Christmas

Simon didn’t comment, though he agreed Garen’s body was in fabulous shape.

“I’ve got my draw weight back,” Garen continued, “but now other parts of my game are breaking down—like calling the sweep for Luca’s shots. I’ve totally lost confidence in my ability to judge where the stone will end up.”

Simon made a sympathetic noise. From what little he knew of curling, helping the skip’s stones succeed was one of the most important parts of Garen’s position as vice-skip.

“I just can’t get out of my head,” Garen said. “I never used to be that way. After a poor shot, I’d let it go and move on. Having a shit memory comes in handy sometimes—it helps you focus on the present.”

“That makes sense. The dough should be the same thickness all over, by the way.”

“Right. Thanks.” Garen adjusted his grip and pressed the rolling pin against the center of the dough to even it out. “Anyway, Luca suggested I meditate more to stop my thoughts spiraling. I told him I’ve been too busy to meditate, and he said it’s when we’re busiest that we most need meditation. He’s right, of course. That’s why he’s the skip.” Garen sighed. “I’m terrified of letting my team down. Those lads mean the world to me.”

“I’m sure the feeling’s mutual.”

Garen nodded. “But it’s not like it was back at uni, when we were just four guys having a laugh. We’re professionals now—not moneywise, but in terms of how seriously we take it.”

“It can’t be easy to juggle that with a day job.”

“Aye, but I love having my hands full. I’ve always managed the balance before.”

Before me, you mean.It couldn’t be a coincidence that Garen’s performance had dropped when Simon’s Guillain-Barré had struck. He’d spent every free night at the hospital instead of recovering from curling practice or league games. Sitting in those horrid visitor chairs at Simon’s bedside couldn’t have been healthy for muscles already stiff from exertion. And worrying about Simon’s condition had added stress at a time when Garen was already under a lot of pressure.

Simon knew he was taking up too much room in his partner’s life and mind, but he didn’t know how to pull back without hurting Garen’s feelings.

“So what’s your plan?” he asked.

“If I can’t improve soon,” Garen said, “I’ll quit.”

Simon gaped up at him. “What, quit curling?”

“No, just the team. I’d carry on curling as a hobby, join a less competitive league. That way if I’m rubbish, the consequences aren’t so dire.”

“You’d just abandon your mates like that?”

“Better than forcing them to chuck me off the team,” Garen said. “That’d make them feel worse.”

“You mean it’d makeyoufeel worse.”

Garen shrugged. “That too.”

Once the dough was rolled out, they cut the pieces and baked them. As the warm, heady scent of gingerbread filled the flat, Garen said, “I’m not sure I can resist eating the whole house when it comes out of the oven. Just as a warning.”

“I made two extra pieces for us to eat,” Simon told him as he wiped the excess flour from the table.

“Ya dancer!” Garen grinned at him from the sink, where he was washing the dishes. His eyes looked tired, yet he still exuded his usual impish energy.

After the gingerbread came out of the oven, they ate their sample pieces, which Garen proclaimed “perfect” but Simon found a bit “over-clovey.” He’d definitely use more nutmeg next time.

“I’ll finish tidying up,” Garen said. “You should’ve been away to bed hours ago.”

Simon couldn’t find the energy to protest. He stood unsteadily and took hold of his walking frame. “Be sure and pull the chairs away from the table in case any mice want to jump up and get the gingerbread.”

“There are no mice here.”

“Yeah, let’s keep it that way.”

“Roger that,” Garen said. “Shall I join you later?”

“If you like,” Simon said, though he kind of wanted to sleep alone tonight. He needed the rest.

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